


unbury

by prettydizzeed



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Ear Piercings, Established Relationship, Gift Giving, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Sacrilege, past religious trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29103978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettydizzeed/pseuds/prettydizzeed
Summary: Two dead boys, holding hands, a middle finger to Alex’s parents and Willie’s teachers and the whole of Hollywood Boulevard and Pennsylvania Avenue alike.
Relationships: Alex Mercer/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 69





	unbury

Willie pierces Alex’s ear in the middle of the night, numbs it with an ice cube in his careful fingers and sterilizes the needle first and everything, even though they’re really not sure if that sort of stuff matters anymore. He puts the earring in, a sparkling fake-diamond stud, tinted slightly pink, and kisses Alex’s cheek, smooths out the wrinkles in his sleeves. Despite the way they met, Willie is careful about bodies, Alex has learned. A dead boy who still skateboards with a helmet on. 

It takes weeks, Alex stopping every time he gets a headache from focusing his hands into something that can interact with the world around him, but he finally finishes a bracelet, purple and blue and pink interwoven into a diamond pattern. Willie could totally tie it on one-handed, Alex is sure, but he holds his wrist out to Alex anyway, eyebrows raised, and Alex flushes and fumbles and forgets everything he ever learned in Boy Scouts, thank fucking god. He ties it, though, and it doesn’t come loose. His hands did that, made something like that, that doesn’t even need to be hidden behind long sleeves or frayed pockets. A dead boy who’s only wearing pink from now on, now that he doesn’t have to worry about what could happen if the wrong person sees him on the street. 

They scream in museums and churches and courtrooms, and Alex wonders if it’s like how people can’t hear him when he talks or if it’s like how people can hear him when he sings. He hopes for one, then the other, then screams some more, puts all his guts into it, tests whether he can still lose his voice. Briefly, wildly, he considers tearing down a steeple, just appearing on the roof and having at it, but decides to save his energy. Instead, they belt Pansy Division lyrics from the pews, laugh breathless in the parking lot, wrap arms around each other’s waists to blink their way back home. Two dead boys, holding hands, a middle finger to Alex’s parents and Willie’s teachers and the whole of Hollywood Boulevard and Pennsylvania Avenue alike.  _ You can’t kill us, motherfuckers! You can’t kill our love now! Queer bodies conquered death! _


End file.
